


28 Rides

by nymphadoracrashedthetardis



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Commute AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphadoracrashedthetardis/pseuds/nymphadoracrashedthetardis
Summary: Jake is the social glue of any friend group. Or, Jake takes the bus and brings the squad together, while Amy is fascinated by his hair.Commute AU, as inspired by startofamoment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Created by startofamoment, and already written by peraltiagoisland. But! This was a little plot that I could not get out of my head and I had to share my version of this AU, thought up mainly on my endless commutes to work.
> 
> (Be sure to check out peraltiagoisland's the wheels on the bus go round and round! It was delightful!)

MONDAY MORNING- RIDE #1

 

Amy Santiago’s morning commute, every day without fail, went like this: she would arrive at her bus stop at around 7:50, giving her a grace period of a few minutes before her bus arrived between 7:54 and 8:01. When it arrived (never on time, but usually within that seven minute period), she’d step on and fish her metropass from the same pocket of her purse she always left it in (on some days she’d pretend she’s a cop and it’s a police badge, but she’d never admit it aloud). Then, she’ll make her way as far back on the bus as she’s able and pray for a seat.

 

But the thing about commutes is that, unless you have a friend to talk to or a suitable book to read, you’ll be resigned to spending 33-47 minutes a trip staring aimlessly out a window. Amy, being prone to motion sickness, kept her book deep in her purse, buried under her packed lunch to resist temptation. She spent most of her time alone, standing.

 

Monday morning, a northbound route. The toughest commute of the week, especially in wet weather (which it was), sometimes even worse than that ride when she got splatters of baby puke in her hair. Skim her eyes over the bus she may, but Amy will never find a seat at this time. That morning, she instead stood as she half-watched everyone get on. It was getting warm on the bus and her scarf is a bit thick, and she willed someone to open a window.

 

(No one did.)

 

Like any rough morning, the bus stops for passengers at every stop ( _ Every. Damn. One.) _ . Stop three after Amy’s was painful, as more commuters got on than they did off. Stop four always has exactly one person she wished would join the crowd at stop three. And at stop five, when more people got on than usual, Amy tried not to sigh loudly.

 

The bus idled at the stop, and the crowd shifted uncomfortably. Amy unraveled her scarf and draped it over her purse, watching out the window as a man in an unbuttoned peacoat ran towards the bus. He drenched the floor of the bus with rainwater ( _ where was his umbrella? _ ), and paid with a handful of cash that rattles for a long time as the bus starts down the street again. He stood, leaning against a pole, with his hands in his pockets.

 

Amy noticed that he had good, albeit wet, hair.

 

* * *

 

 

TUESDAY MORNING- RIDE #3

 

The spring weather was only getting worse now, and if the bus crowd on Monday morning was bad, Tuesday was terrible. Amy stood in the middle of the bus, holding onto the pole in front of her. The thick yellow paint was peeling, and she toyed with a flake with her fingernail. 

 

The curly haired man from the previous morning’s route- and who she thought she saw a glimpse of in the evening, too- was back again, this time with an umbrella. Like her, he stood. Unlike her, he bounced lightly on his toes every so often and had the sense to bring headphones for his ride. 

 

(Amy also noted, as he moves to stand next to her, that he smells of a soap that’s familiar but that she could not place. She thought about it for precisely six stops before remembering that he’s a stranger and she had no business thinking about his scent, anyways.)

 

When Amy’s stop was announced, no one went to pull the stop rope, and Amy herself leaned dangerously far over a stranger to reach it. A pea coat-clad arm extends into the corner of her eye and pulls it for her, and Amy is reminded for the scent again. She nodded slightly in the man’s direction before pushing through the crowd and off of the bus.

 

The scent of the soap lingered in her mind for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

  
  


WEDNESDAY EVENING- RIDE #5

 

Another one of March’s crisp, dark evenings. By the time Amy got out of work the streetlights were on, and their light reflected across the pavement on her way to the bus stop. She could feel an ache low in her legs and feet, and willed for there to be seats available on the bus.

 

When it arrived (four minutes late, but who’s counting), seats were beginning to run out. With heavy steps, she fell into an aisle seat near the back of the bus and dropped her purse at her feet. 

 

Then she remembered the shiny streets and her muddy shoes, and picked it back up again.

 

_ Then _ she smelled that familiar but elusive scent that was bothering her yesterday.

 

Curly-haired, good-smelling pea coat man was on all of her routes that week thus far. He was lucky enough to snag a seat that morning, but sprung up only a stop later when an older man came on. The image alone was enough for Amy to need to chant  _ don’t talk to strangers _ under her breath all day.

Amy stared straight ahead for the entirety of her ride, very aware of her breathing. He got off the bus before she did, and didn’t say anything to her, just slowly lifted his bag- which was lying at his feet, Amy noticed with horror- and started to rise. Amy got up to let him out instead of just shifting to the side. 

 

He muttered  _ thank you _ , and Amy got off five stops later.

  
  


* * *

 

 

FRIDAY EVENING- RIDE #10

 

Amy was on the bus long after school was out on Friday evening, but nevertheless, there was a group of high school students with bulky backpacks getting home late. Pea coat man was there again, as he had been all week. This time, he seemed to have made a friend- he was talking to a shorter man who was normally on the bus in the evenings, and who was seemed to be excited about something.

Pea coat man, despite a rather embarrassing fall two mornings prior (he skid on his knees and landed with his hands high on a stranger’s thighs before turning  _ very _ red), was balancing on the floor of the bus, his hands again in his pockets. The smaller man stared at him, and after the next sharp turn- which pea coat man amazingly survived- attempted for himself. 

 

He lasted about half a stop before falling into a pole. 

 

Amy giggled quietly to herself, and watched as the shorter man get up and, amazingly, try again. Pea coat man, strangely, still looked amazed, and was talking a mile a minute. Amy hoped he remembered to breathe.

At a major intersection, the shorter man got off moments before the bus pulled away from the curb, rushing off with his long coat trailing behind him. 

 

“See you later, Jakey!”

 

Jakey- Jake, Amy assumed, although you could never be completely sure- stifled a small smile in his grey coat collar. 

 

“Good thing he didn’t see me fall the other morning, right?”

 

Amy entertained the notion that Jake had been noticing her, too.

  
  


* * *

 

 

MONDAY MORNING, RIDE #11

 

The weather was bad (again), the commute was busy (again), and the bus smelled damp ( _ again _ ). Poor, as far as mornings went, but Jake and Amy stood near each other (again), and Amy was not about to start complaining about that.

As the bus picked up speed, Amy glanced over at Jake quickly, took a deep breath, and spoke before her nerve ran out.

 

“It’s busy today.”

 

Jake nodded slightly. “Yeah, it is.”

 

Amy faced forward again but could see, out of the corner of her eye, Jake fighting a smile tugging at his cheeks.

 

Later, when she got off the bus, her step was bouncier than any person going to work in bad weather should be.

 

* * *

 

 

TUESDAY EVENING, RIDE #14

 

Tuesday evening and Amy was already counting down until the weekend. She had volunteered to lead a high school trip at the museum that day, and had a binder of activities and fun facts planned out for them. 

 

Too bad she had missed her demographic completely. Amy regretted the whole thing after she pulled apart the  _ second _ couple of the day being handsy in a corner behind a statue ( _ of one of her favourite pieces! For shame!) _

 

Amy slid into an empty window seat and threw her bag down beside her. She’d been running around in heeled boots that haven’t broken in yet all day and could feel the bottoms of her feet throb. Her sweater was bunching up uncomfortable underneath her coat, and she squirmed to adjust it.

 

An outburst behind her distracted her.

 

“Take that back!”

 

“I’m sorry, Jake, I can’t.” It was Jake and his bus surfing friend again.

 

“Say  _ Die Hard  _ is the best cop movie there is.”

 

Something clicked in her head and Amy spun around in her seat without thought.  “What?” She almost slunk back from the embarrassment from her outburst, but Jake took it in stride.

 

“ _ Die Hard  _ is the best cop movie there is,” Jake repeated with a  _ duh _ face.

 

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but it really is not.”

 

“What is then?”

 

“Top three, in order:  _ Training Day _ ,  _ Lethal Weapon _ , and  _ Fargo _ ,” Amy rattled off. She waited for the counter argument.

 

Instead, Jake looked at her, intrigued. Beside him, his friend hummed agreeably. “Three, I’m impressed. What, did you fancy yourself a cop as a kid?”

 

Amy perked up. “Yeah, actually,” she said. “I arrested all of my teddy bears by the time I was eight.”

 

Jake is still, half-smiling, staring for a moment before remembering himself. “That’s- really cool,” he looks down. “Also, I’m, uh, Jake, and this is Charles.”

 

“Charles Boyle.” The other man stuck out a hand to shake. Amy took it.

 

“Amy Santiago.”

 

Jake wouldn’t meet her eye for more than a second for the rest of the trip until after Charles got off the bus. They were silent for a beat, then another. As Amy tried to decide if it would be rude to turn away for the rest of the ride, Jake spoke up.

 

“So.  _ Fargo _ ?  _ Really _ ?” Amy laughed.

 

She then spent the rest of her trip home mentally listing reasons why it’s unwise to date strangers you just met on the bus.

  
  


* * *

 

WEDNESDAY EVENING, RIDE #16

 

It was the first time Amy had talked to Jake since the introductions the night before (save for small acknowledging smiles they shared across the crowded bus that morning that did  _ not _ make Amy’s stomach flutter, thank you very much). Amy just barely made her usual evening bus that day- her meeting had gone way over and she ran the entire way to the stop- but she made it on, and found Jake and Charles there, holding on to the same pole. 

 

(Thankfully not bus surfing- Amy winced every time they went hands-free on a crowded bus.)

 

“Jake, Amy’s here,” Charles said. “Amy, come stand with us!”

 

A man in a seat by the front eyes her as she walks over. “Hi Charles. Jake.”

 

“Detective Amy,” Jake said with an obnoxious wink. Amy laughed lightly.

 

“Oh, kind, but no, not a detective.”

 

“I bet you’d make a great detective,” Amy smiled and Jake looked horrified very suddenly. “But I’d probably be better, so.” he amended. 

 

Amy raised her eyebrows.

 

“I’ve seen  _ Die Hard  _ a  _ lot _ ,” Jake clarified. 

 

“Being a good cop involves more than just good knowledge of a movie.”

 

Jake scrunched up his face like Amy’s young nieces and nephews were prone to do when she told them to eat their carrots. “Like what?”

 

“Good observation skills, for one.”

 

“I am observant.”

 

“You are.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay,” Amy smirked. “Prove it.”

 

Beside them, Charles looked like he hadn’t breathed in minutes.

 

Amy nodded at a pair of twin girls sitting with a muscular man not far away. The trio were often on the bus in the evenings, and more often than not, the man was wearing a tiny pink and orange backpack on each shoulder.

“The other day one was wearing a yellow dress and the other was wearing red overalls, remember?”

 

Jake nodded. “I was jealous of the overalls.”

 

“So was I.” Jake smiled lightly and Amy fought hard not to smile back.

 

“Which one was wearing the overalls, Jake?”

 

They looked over at the trio. The little girls were staring out the window and pointing, occasionally stopping to fight with their raincoats. The bus was still hot as hell, and Amy sympathized.

 

Their father, however, was not staring out the window, but was instead glaring at them. He stood up and Jake and Amy stepped back without thinking. Charles rolled his eyes at the man.

 

“What the hell are you two doing?”

 

“Admiring them?” Jake said. Amy wanted to kick him.

 

“We were just trying to prove a point, sir. I didn’t think my friend here could tell your daughters apart.”

“I can! The one on the left was wearing the overalls yesterday.”

 

The man continued staring at them. “They’re really cute, I love their hair,” Amy tried.

 

The man’s face softened. “Isn’t it cute? I did it myself.”

 

Amy smiled. Jake didn’t say anything until after the man took each girl's’ hand and led them off the bus. Before he left, he turned and spoke to them.

 

“You know, sometimes even I have trouble telling them apart.”

 

Amy laughed about it all the way home.

 

* * *

 

 

TUESDAY MORNING, RIDE #17

 

Amy never talked to the intimidating black haired girl that was always on her morning route, nor did she ever talk to her loud friend. Granted, she never talked to anyone on the bus before she met Jake and Charles, but those two girls made her nervous in a way she hadn’t been since high school.

 

The black haired girl was always on the morning bus, and always on time (and always in what seemed to be a different leather jacket). The other came along sporadically, but always with the girl, always with her phone in her hand, sometimes using the other to hold the other girl’s hand.

 

By that Tuesday morning, Jake had ridden the bus sixteen times before the chatty girl came on again.

 

Bus, busy, bad weather, uncomfortably hot. What else was new. That morning, it felt to Amy as though everyone else was sufficiently caffeinated but her. Everyone’s chatter added up to a loud hum that vibrated through the bus, and Amy had to speak up a bit to greet Jake. The two had never planned to stand together, nor did they plan on ignoring each other. 

 

(Or, at least that’s what Amy told herself as she gravitated towards Jake on each bus ride.)

 

By the time the two girls came onto the bus, Jake and Amy were squished towards the back.  Someone’s backpack was poking uncomfortably into Amy’s lower back the entire ride, no matter how far away she seemed to shift. As Amy was staring out at the rain-spattered street, Jake started waving his hands around.

 

“Gina!”

 

But the girl- Gina?- couldn’t hear him. She was sharing a pair of headphones with the black haired girl and her head was turned down at her phone.

 

“You know her?” Amy asked. Not that she was curious about those two, but- she was very curious.

 

(Just like those girls she was afraid of in high school, but we won’t go there.)

 

“Yeah, she’s one of my best friends.”

 

“Well, she and her girlfriend are really cute together,” she said conversationally. 

 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Gina doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

 

“I swear they are together. They’re like this every time she’s on the bus.”

 

Jake gaped. “You’ve seen them together before?”

 

“Well, yeah. Every so often for months now.” She drummed her fingers on the pole beside her.

 

Jake was still staring at the two girls, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. “She would have  _ told _ me,” he said.

 

Then, “She  _ would  _ have told me.” 

 

Then, as if he was trying to convince himself, “I’ll bet you anything.”

 

Amy looked at him, looked at Gina, then looked at his boyish grin, and decided to take a chance. “A coffee?”

 

“Deal.” They shook on it.

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY MORNING, RIDE #19

 

Jake handed Amy a coffee as he stepped onto the bus. Amy warmed up her hands on the cup as she watched him pout.

 

“So, I was right?”

 

“Ugh, yeah.”

 

Later, after they’re pushed towards the back and the black haired girl gets on and flashes her pass, Jake tried to go over to talk to her. Amy stopped him with her arm.

 

“I need to know she’s good enough for her!”

 

Amy smiled but didn’t let him through. When he calmed down and resolved to simply glare at the girl, Amy decided completely and wholeheartedly to ask Jake out.

 

* * *

  
  


MONDAY EVENING, RIDE #22

 

Amy’s mind didn’t change, even after Jake laughed when he saw her puddle-soaked clothes that evening.

 

* * *

  
  


TUESDAY MORNING, RIDE #23

 

Amy was standing near the seats at the front when Jake got on that morning. He smiled at her before she had a chance to even say hello, and she could feel her own face stretching into a smile in return.

 

“Guess what.”

 

“What.” Amy tried to tamper her smile down, to no avail.

 

“Gina’s introducing me to her girlfriend today.  _ Rosa. _ ”

 

Amy eyed him. “Be nice,” she warned.

 

Jakes watched the bus doors until Gina and Rose got on, at which point Amy backed off slightly. Gina pulled Jake into a hug. “Guess we’re bus buddies now, huh?”

 

“Just until my car’s fixed.”

 

Gina’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s still not fixed?”

 

Jake gaped slightly and seemed to be at a loss for words. 

 

(This was, on its own, astonishing to Amy, but her mind was busy calculating how many more rides she had left with Jake.  _ How long did cars take to be fixed?  _ She never owned one. She made a mental note to research it later. And to find the nerve to ask him out before that time ran out.)

 

Back in the world outside of Amy’s head, Gina introduced Rosa, who, in turn, nodded at Jake briefly. Jake nodded back, a bit more sloppy.

 

By now, lost in her reverie, Amy had slinked so far back that there was now another person between her and the rest of the group. Jake noticed and pulled her back.

 

“This is Amy,” he said. Gina stared at her like she was trying to figure something out. “We met on our commutes.”

 

Gina kept looking at Amy. Jake kept trying to stare Rosa down. Amy met no one’s eye, and her arm almost burned where Jake grabbed it. Rosa stood still and tried not to growl whenever a stranger brushed up against her.

 

The bus drove on.

 

* * *

  
  


WEDNESDAY MORNING, RIDE #25

 

The bus broke down Thursday evening, one intersection before Jake’s stop and five stops from Amy’s. The bus made a stop at the lights, made a horrible screeching noise, and never started up again.

 

“Sit tight, folks. Another bus is on its way,” the driver’s voice was static-y over the intercom.

 

Amy groaned and slumped against the side of a seat. The woman in it glared at her. Beside Amy, Jake swung his bag over his shoulder, ready to follow the few lucky ones getting off at that stop anyways. Then he adjusted his bag’s strap. Then he tied his shoe.

 

The trickle of passengers stopped and the bus doors closed again before Jake spoke.

 

“I- uh- do you want a ride?”

 

“What?”

 

“I live really close, and if I gave you a ride, you wouldn’t have to wait to get home-”

 

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Amy tucked her hair behind her ears.

 

Jake’s face loosened into a smile and motioned for her to exit first. Outside, it was drizzling, and Amy opened her umbrella and held it over their heads.

 

“Oh, so that’s how everyone else stays dry,” Jake joked.

 

“You should really start bringing an umbrella.”

 

“I’d have to buy one first.”

 

They jogged across the street and Amy fought to keep her umbrella upright in the wind. “But I guess you won't need one now that your car's fixed."

 

Jake didn’t look at her, and started rambling into his collar. “Yeah, I guess my car’s ready now. No need to take the bus anymore. I hate the bus. Freedom!”

 

Amy glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Why’d you take the bus today then?”

 

Jake’s face didn’t move from behind his coat. “I was letting it rest.  _ You _ know.” Amy didn’t, but her stomach fluttered irrationally. ( _ Don’t date strangers, _ she reminded herself again.)

Jake’s car was street parked close to his building. It was a bit messy inside, and Jake had to clear the passenger’s seat off for Amy to have a seat.

 

“Turns out mechanics don’t clean your car, too,” he said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, fiddled with it, wiped off the screen with his sleeve (almost as an afterthought), and handed it to her. “Here, put in your address.”

 

Amy began to type in her address, but then looked at Jake, and his car, and his damp hair and  _ Die Hard _ keychain. She erased her address and typed in the location of her favourite restaurant in the area. “Go here,” she said. 

 

When they approach the restaurant, Jake drives a little ways down the street.

 

“Which one’s yours?”

 

Amy pointed to the restaurant.

 

“Oh, cool, you live in there?” 

 

Amy rolled her eyes. “Not quite, but if you manage to find a parking spot, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

 

Jake’s face lit up. He quickly turned away to hide it, but Amy caught it nonetheless. She grinned into her own scarf as Jake tried to navigate himself into a tight parking spot. He made it.

 

( _ Don’t date strangers,  _ the voice in Amy’s head went.

 

_ Shut up,  _ Amy replied.)


End file.
